In the late 1990s, when Shreya,* aged 18, left her hometown in Bihar to study social sciences at Delhi University, she thought her hardest battles were behind her. Her parents had wanted her to study somewhere close to home, but she managed to persuade them otherwise.
What she hadn’t expected was finding love in Madhurita,* a college batchmate with whom she took leisurely strolls around campus. Before university, Shreya hadn’t dated anyone, much less contemplated her sexuality. Once she met Madhurita, though, “it was clear that I loved her, and so I knew that I preferred women,” Shreya said. Their close friendship blossomed into a romance that both of them felt was destined to last a lifetime.
Madhurita’s parents welcomed the relationship, but Shreya’s family members were resistant. Shreya told them about Madhurita when she visited home soon after her graduation. “My father didn’t raise his voice, but he was cold. He made it clear that I could [either] be their daughter or her partner,” Shreya recounted. “I left the next day.”
Shreya’s brother sided with their father. Although her mother initially struggled with this choice, she grew more supportive over the years. Since Shreya could not visit her natal home with her partner—and refused to go there without her—she and her mother stayed in touch over the phone. Shreya pursued a career in social work, while Madhurita became a civil engineer.
By 2012, Shreya’s father had a change of heart. He no longer wanted to witness his daughter’s life from the sidelines, through updates from his wife that he pieced together. In June that year, Shreya’s parents visited her and Madhurita’s home in Delhi.
Their families met six months later. They didn’t call the event a wedding, but it had all the makings of a celebration. There was a feast, music, and gifts for the couple. “There wasn’t a pundit or anything, but we exchanged garlands,” Shreya recounted. Madhurita’s family gave Shreya a shankha pola—bangles traditionally worn by Bengali brides —and a gold necklace worth about ₹2 lakh. Shreya’s family gifted the two women ornate saris and an oven.
Shreya’s brother, who worked as an insurance broker at the time, suggested that the couple apply for tax exemptions on their gifts. Under Indian law, gifts of cash, property, or “movable” assets—such as gold, artworks, or shares—worth more than ₹50,000 are taxable, with a few exceptions. These include gifts exchanged at a wedding; given by a close relative such as a parent, sibling, or spouse; and left as inheritance or as part of a will.
However, when Shreya and Madhurita consulted their financial advisor, they realised that such exemptions were reserved only for legally recognised spouses. “We didn’t bother to challenge it because we had already been living together for over a decade, so it wasn’t like we were only just starting our lives,” Madhurita recalled. “By that point, we were stable enough, and the hassle of a legal proceeding would have been more taxing than saving money on taxes,” she added.
Nearly 15 years on, queer couples like Shreya and Madhurita continue to navigate the same, uncertain legal terrain. They remain locked out of rights that cis-het married couples take for granted: from tax exemptions on wedding gifts and the ability to jointly own a home, to taking decisions for each other during a medical crisis or inheriting a partner’s assets when they die.
The Supreme Court’s refusal to legalise same-sex marriage, or even recognise a civil union between same-sex couples, deepened this void. But queer people are chipping away at this exclusion. They are fighting for the rights that would have come with this recognition, one case at a time.
A Delhi-based lesbian couple is seeking a change in law to secure the right for queer partners to make medical decisions for one another, as queerbeat has earlier reported. Another set of petitions is addressing a different kind of inequality. Two queer couples have moved the Bombay and Karnataka High Courts to argue that they should not be denied the tax protections accessible to cis-het spouses.
The hearing in the Bombay High Court has been adjourned until the conclusion of the case in Karnataka. During a hearing on 4 August, 2026 in the Karnataka High Court, the union government told the court that the Solicitor General of India, Tushar Mehta, will take over the case. The case will next be heard in this court on 10 September.
“I think it’s a good strategy to attack individual laws given same-sex marriage was not legalised,” said Kanmani R, a trans woman and lawyer at the Madras High Court. “It is a way to poke holes: keep throwing pebbles at the window and keep bringing up these issues in front of the government through the courts in the hope that eventually, a door will open.”
Whether this strategy will be successful remains to be seen. “The main challenge is that there is no way to define or prove who is in a queer relationship, or any unmarried relationship for that matter, without getting into the murky territory of trying to govern live-in relationships,” Kanmani told queerbeat. That could lead to the question of “how much power the government has to intervene in queer relationships,” she added.
The legal cases challenging unequal tax laws
Payio Ashiho, a homemaker, and Vivek Divan, a lawyer and queer rights activist, filed a petition in the Bombay High Court in August 2025. Vivek had earlier given Payio about ₹22 lakh as gifts on two separate occasions, their petition notes. The couple realised that this exchange would have gone unnoticed had they been cis-het spouses but would be regulated by the state in their case. Payio would have to declare this amount as income—and pay tax on it. As long-term partners whose relationship is no different from any married couple, they were entitled to the same financial benefits and protections, their petition argues.
Payio and Vivek’s petition does not make any overarching arguments around legal recognition for same-sex marriage. It only seeks equality under India’s tax laws. The petition argues that the denial of exemptions to same-sex couples violates their right to equal protection under law, as enshrined under Article 14 of the Indian Constitution. The petition bolsters this argument by further drawing upon Article 15, which holds, “The State shall not discriminate against any citizen on grounds only of religion, race, caste, sex, place of birth or any of them.” It further argues that this exclusion violates Article 19 (1) (a)—which protects a citizen’s right to freedom of expression—and Article 21, which protects their right to life and personal liberty.
Meanwhile, Akhilesh Godi and Anurag Kalia—both Bengaluru-based software engineers—faced a similar dilemma. In 2025, Akhilesh gifted Anurag a family heirloom on the anniversary of their relationship: a 22-carat gold bracelet valued at more than ₹1 lakh, according to their petition before the Karnataka High Court. When Anurag was preparing his tax returns for that year, he realised that he would have to disclose this gift and pay tax on it. What should have been an ordinary gesture of love between two partners reinforced the legal limits of their relationship instead.
And so, on 17 September 2025, Anurag and Akhilesh filed their petition, too. Like the Bombay High Court petition, theirs also challenges the denial of tax exemptions to queer couples, citing the fundamental rights under Articles 14, 15, 19, and 21 of the Indian Constitution.
Both the petitions are united in their fundamental demand. They challenge the ‘fifth proviso’ of the Indian Income Tax Act’s Section 52(2)(x), which exempts gifts between spouses from being taxed. Instead, these petitions suggest, the exemption should be extended to partners in a “long term, same-sex relationship” or that the term “spouse” be expanded to include partners in “exactly the same circumstances as heterosexual couples which would be presumed to be in marriage.”
The government’s response
In early July this year, the Income Tax Department filed an affidavit in response to the petition in the Bombay High Court. The petition, it argued, is an “abuse of process of law” and must be dismissed.
The affidavit, filed on behalf of the Principal Chief Commissioner of Income Tax, Mumbai, claimed that the petitioners were trying to challenge the definition of “marriage/wife-husband/spouse” using tax laws. They couldn’t enjoy the same benefits guaranteed to spouses “without first getting their relationship legally recognised,” the affidavit added.
Meanwhile, in Bengaluru, the union government made its case before the Karnataka High Court on 22 July through Arvind Kamath, Additional Solicitor General of India for this court. He questioned the petitioners’ assertion of being in a “stable same-sex relationship” and dismissed this fact as being unverifiable. “Now what is meant by stable? How does the assessing authority verify whether it is stable or not? What kind of inquiry can he make?” Arvind asked the court. Were the scope of tax exemptions to be broadened, he added, these exemptions could be misused.
The paradox of “stability”
Arvind’s argument points to a fundamental contradiction. On the one hand, the state expects queer couples to demonstrate the so-called stability of their relationships. On the other, it withholds the very legal protections that would help them establish this security—joint access to financial services, inheritance rights, and medical decision-making authority.
“I think what our parents and families across India seek in marriage is stability; that also means financial stability, knowing that your daughter will be taken care of,” said Madhurita. Given the uncertainties that societal structures impose on queer people, this stability can often feel out of reach.
For instance, in 2012, Madhurita and Shreya decided to buy an apartment together. They encountered resistance at every step. Banks refused to grant them home loans as co-owners, since shared ownership is limited to those related by marriage or blood. Brokers argued that because the loan was in Madhurita’s name, selling any property to both women as co-owners would invite “societal” disapproval. They bought an apartment eventually, but it was registered only in Madhurita’s name. She worries about what might happen in her absence. “We have no inheritance rights. I can’t ensure the house stays with my partner if I pass,” Madhurita said.
This ambiguity poses a challenge for many queer couples, Kanmani pointed out. “When it comes to joint property ownership, without a legal relationship, either by marriage or blood, it becomes difficult to govern what happens if, let’s say, one person doesn’t pay [pending instalments for the property], or dies—there are no rules outlining that,” she said. India’s succession laws—much like its tax laws—don’t recognise same-sex partners. Even if queer people leave a will bequeathing their property to their partner, blood relatives could contest this inheritance in courts.
For queer couples who aren’t publicly out, the absence of legal recognition poses an additional challenge, noted Kanmani. “That makes it even harder for the relationship to be verifiably defined, and thus harder to access benefits on the basis of that relationship,” she said.
The way forward
The couples fighting the income tax cases have been in relationships for several years, as have Madhurita and Shreya. But Aanya Wadhwani and Shivan Patel, a non-binary trans couple in their twenties, are only just beginning to build their lives together. Yet, they’ve already confronted several legal barriers in this pursuit.
They recently applied for a joint account at HDFC and ICICI banks in Delhi, where they have lived together since November 2025. The officials at both banks refused their application. When they told the bank officials that they were in a relationship, the officials assumed that they were a same-sex couple and told them that they did not qualify for a joint account, Aanya recounted.
This response seems to have no basis in law. The Reserve Bank of India, the country’s central bank and financial regulator, does not bar queer couples from opening a joint account, said Kanmani, who specialises in financial law. (queerbeat contacted the media representatives of HDFC and ICICI banks for comment over email. This copy will be updated if they respond.)
In December 2025, when Aanya and Shivan tried to buy a car together, the sales staff at the dealership first told them they could not register as co-owners. Although India’s laws do not prohibit multiple people from owning a vehicle, cars are usually registered in the name of an individual or a company, according to multiple websites that detail the regulations surrounding car ownership within the country. The couple then asked if one of them could at least be registered as the nominee of the owner. But they were told to nominate someone related by blood or marriage instead.
For many queer people estranged from their natal families, such arrangements are fraught with complications. “I am not in a good relationship with my natal family, which is very frustrating because—God forbid anything happens to us—our lives would be in the hands of someone we don’t trust,” Aanya said. Ultimately, they put their foot down and told the sales staff they wouldn’t buy the car if they couldn’t have each other as nominees. The staff relented, finally agreeing to list Shivan as the nominee, but only as a “friend.”
This assumption—that a queer person’s primary legal ties are to their natal family rather than their partner—surfaces across a range of bureaucratic documents and procedures, Aanya pointed out. “It is our natal families that they keep connecting our belonging to, and these are the families who had constantly rejected us, abandoned us,” they said.
Whether that legal framework will change now depends on the courts. Kanmani was cautious in her outlook. “Courts traditionally have been hesitant to step in, as we saw with marriage equality, even if they may be cognisant of the need for protections, “ she said. “In this particular case, it is a matter of money, which is an aspect of governance courts typically do not touch,” she added.
Even if the income tax cases lead to favourable outcomes for same-sex couples, Aanya and Shivan may not be able to access these legal rights, since they are both trans and non-binary. “I don’t expect to see this change within our lifetimes; we saw how, with the recent Trans [Amendment] Act, even the protections that were there were taken away,” Shivan said.
Until the law catches up, queer couples are forced to rely on a patchwork of workarounds. As far as Aanya is concerned, the only way forward is to build a life of radical independence. “We don’t seek stability or financial safety from the government or any institution for that matter—[not even] family [or] law,” they said. “We know that this is something we have to build for ourselves, work as hard as we can in our field and gather as many financial resources as we can so we don’t have to depend on anyone.”
*Names have been changed to protect privacy.